


The Gilded Cage

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M, Inception Reverse Big Bang Challenge, Multi, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-26 02:49:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2635226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ariadne and Arthur had an understanding after the Fischer job, and it was supposed to be enough. Getting stalked changed <i>everything.</i></p><p>Written for the 2014 Inception Reversebang, based off of photo prompt #206 by fruityshirts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Subtle Menace

It started off as something small, little details that Ariadne easily overlooked. Her yellow scarf was over the back of her chair instead of on its hook in her closet. The red jacket was hung up next to her pants, not next to her other jackets. She could have sworn she had washed her blue blouse, the one with the unraveled hem that she couldn't bear to throw away because it was worn in perfectly, and no one could see it when she tucked it in anyway. Her shoes were generally kicked off when she got home, but her other pair of boots were lined up nicely next to the door. Her textbooks were on the floor rather than her coffee table, which admittedly was a little rickety and shouldn't have been able to support that kind of weight anyway.

Still, it was the detail that Ariadne had always been drawn to. Creating details had always been her signature, even in her drawings for school. That was partly what had drawn Professor Miles' eye when he combed through his students to introduce one to Dominic Cobb for the inception job. Ariadne had naturally picked up on what Dom had needed, had integrated herself into the team and made the corrections on the fly that were required as the plan started to (literally) get shot all to hell.

She thought of Arthur right away. It wasn't just because of the kiss on the hotel level or sitting for a week on the first level until the timer ran down. He had been a gentleman then, not pressing his advantage too hard. But they had practically lived in each others' pockets for that week, pressed side by side in the same bed even though they could have gone to separate hideaways. Yusuf hadn't stayed too close, after all. Once the high of completing the job wore off, he wanted to stay on his own and keep his head down so any remaining subconscious security personnel would ignore him.

Arthur knew how to dodge them, however. So they talked about anything and everything, though most personal stories were ones that Ariadne told. Arthur was very closed off about his past, glossing over details most people would embellish. She let it slide, given his military past and current illegal endeavors. He told her about different cities he had visited, different cultures he had a chance to experience, the dangers and thrills of working in dream share. Still, he would touch her wrist or arm even when he didn't have to, pulled her close as they ducked into alleys, grinned at her so wide his brown eyes crinkled in the corners and his dimple winked at her. He didn't push past the touches or kisses, even when she hinted that she wouldn't be averse to more. For some reason, she hadn't pushed farther either. Maybe because it was still a dream, and she would have wanted a relationship to start out in the real world.

He had her memorize his contact information before they woke. Still, he approached her at the taxi stand, his hand lingering a little too long on hers. "Remember my number and e-mail?" he asked, waiting until she nodded. "Anytime you want, you can get in touch with me. I'll get back to you as soon as it's safe," he had promised. Ariadne had ignored Eames' knowing smirk, getting into her own separate taxi. Hesitant to ask him to stay with her right away, Ariadne had gone to her hotel room and let the exhaustion wash over her. Still, she hadn't been physically tired.

 _How well do you know LA?_ she had texted him. Maybe it was a test.

 _Pretty well,_ came his reply five minutes later. _I'll come to you._

Ever cautious, he hadn't wanted her to know where he was staying. But she was a student, not even done with her thesis, and he had felt it was safer to approach her in the hotel lobby. An onlooker might think they were strangers, or at least acquaintances. But her heart beat rapidly in her chest as they went to different museums. It felt as though they were continuing their conversation from the dream level, and Ariadne boldly grabbed his hand after the first exhibit. Exhilaration flooded through her when he didn't step away or drop her hand, and his wide smile was back.

Details. It was always about the details.

Arthur initially demurred on following her to her hotel, but Ariadne saw how he kept watching her out of the corner of his eyes. It wasn't her style usually, but she pulled him down for a filthy kiss in a quiet corner of the museum. "Come back with me," she said, and was oddly gratified to see him look rattled, needing to put a hand in his pocket to check his totem before answering her.

"You shouldn't feel obligated..."

"Trust me, I don't."

"Your safety," he said, and it felt as if he was grasping at straws. "We can't compromise your safety when this isn't going to be your full time work."

"I trust you," Ariadne said. They had talked about her need to build, to experience dream share yet still see real world structures that lasted. "I know you will always keep me safe in dreams and the real world."

"You can trust a killer?" he had asked, perhaps trying to scare her off. If anything, that oddly made him more endearing, a gentleman thief instead of a wanton criminal. "My life is not as stable as I make it look."

"I trust you," Ariadne repeated. "Lord knows why," she said with a rueful smile, acknowledging how little time they've known each other and the reality of his chosen profession. "But I do trust you. You would never hurt me or let me come to harm. I know that much about you."

Arthur had given her a level look. "I could have lied to you in the dream. Just now, all day today, I could be lying to you."

"You could be. But then you'd never warn me off of you right now. And if you were the kind of man to do that, you wouldn't be the kind of man staying by Cobb's side even when you knew he was losing it and wouldn't survive without you."

There really wasn't any answer to that.

"I know what I'm doing," Ariadne assured him, running her hands over his chest. She almost missed his crisp suits, but the shirt and leather jacket over jeans was just as delicious looking. "In this, at least. I know I want you."

"I can't promise you anything past this, not with the way dream share is," he warned her.

"I know." She grasped his shoulders and pulled him down for another kiss. "That's not what I'm asking for. My hours are going to be insane, I won't have time for a normal relationship anyway." He felt good against her mouth, and his arms around her were strong and comforting at once. "I just want you, Arthur. No more, no less. I'm not asking for forever or kids or playing house or anything like that."

Arthur looked relieved. "I couldn't promise you those things even if you wanted them, Ariadne." He pulled her close, devotion in his touch and tone of voice even if he couldn't say the words. His touch on her face was tender, and she pulled him down to kiss her, too impatient to wait for him.

She could feel the passion in his kiss that he no longer had to hide, and she grinned against his mouth. It didn't matter about the words anyway. It was in the details of his touch and tone, in how he didn't want her hurt even unintentionally.

Their intentions clear, the rest of the evening had been spent in her hotel room, going through the box of condoms that Arthur bought on the way there. Ariadne was swallowed up by his kiss, as if he had sparked a fire inside of her and he was only too willing to burn right along with her. Arthur licked her lips and kissed his way along her skin as she peeled off her clothes, then pushed her down onto the bed to lick at her clit and fuck her with his tongue. She writhed and squealed, his hands holding her hips steady as he thrust his tongue up into her. Though she used to feel weird about receiving oral sex, it was perfect with Arthur. She didn't question his enthusiasm for it, and his satisfied expression afterward let her know how much he enjoyed having her come.

Once Arthur was inside her, it felt as though something had clicked. This was what she was waiting for, what all the loser exes couldn't give her. It was more than his cock hitting her sweet spots, though that definitely helped. Ariadne felt as though it was perfect moment, as if everything had led up to this. She drew her hands down Arthur's back and somehow knew just what he liked without having to figure it out as they went, and he knew the precise amount of pressure in his touch on her skin. They were two halves of one whole, to borrow Mal's parlance, though it didn't feel as though she was less than herself after he came. If anything, she felt as though she could do anything, a rush of adrenaline having her push him onto his back so she could coax him into another erection. Again and again and again, no words necessary, just seamlessly exploring one another as if they had come home.

Exhausted afterward, Ariadne grinned at him like a fool and felt inordinately pleased with herself. She had done nothing but reckless things since agreeing to work with Dom, and it had all turned out to be pretty damn amazing. So much for being as cautious as her mother had wanted her to be, living alone in Paris to go to school. This was better than a life consumed by studies, drafts, long hours in a workshop and going to critiques.

After her return to Paris, Arthur occasionally stopped by to visit her. It was an on-again, off-again kind of relationship, though sometimes Ariadne wished it could be something more consistent when her schedule couldn't mesh with his. He continued to work in dream share, so his hours and locations were erratic at best; Arthur didn't tell her where his jobs were to limit her exposure, and they only met at his hotel rooms when he was in Paris. She didn't need him in her back pocket like the first level of Fischer's dream, but would have liked some kind of reassurance other than the reiteration that he wouldn't get in the way of any romantic relationship she found in his absence.

The thrill of sneaking around wore off after the first few months, but she wasn't about to change what they had for fear of driving Arthur away. And really, she didn't have time enough for more than that anyway.

This was possibly why she didn't notice the changes in her apartment or belongings right away. She was too busy with school, her thesis, with running around Paris in convoluted routes to Arthur's different hotels. Being so enamored with details, however, meant that over time the changes did capture her attention. Testing her bishop came up as reality every time, which left her feeling even more out of sorts.

Feeling paranoid, she called Arthur. "I'm not sure if I'm going crazy," she said without preamble after his greeting. "But things in my apartment don't look the same. Like it's been moved or something."

"Have you been followed?" he asked, concern instantly lacing his voice.

"I don't know. I don't know what to look for if someone's not being obvious."

Arthur cursed rather colorfully and it sounded as though he was kicking something over in frustration. "Shit. I can't get there to check, and I really can't send anyone over there to help you right now."

"Um... What about Eames?" Ariadne asked. "He knows who I am, and we were pretty friendly during the Fischer job."

That question triggered another round of cursing. After some deep breaths, Arthur finally said "Okay. Let me make some phone calls and get back to you, okay? Just in case. I can't let anything happen to you. I promise, I'll figure something out."

He hung up before she could question him further. Did that mean that he was more emotionally invested than he wanted to admit? Or was she simply reading more into it because _she_ was more emotionally involved than she planned to be? Either way, Ariadne felt a little bit better. Arthur hadn't dismissed her concerns out of hand or think her opinion didn't matter. Not that he had ever been that way before, but a few misplaced belongings wouldn't ordinarily be of concern. Then again, they weren't involved in an ordinary kind of profession.

Within a week, Eames arrived on her doorstep with a large suitcase and shoulder bag. "I might as well watch over you up close and personal," he had announced. He didn't even bother to unpack, but immediately wanted to see her usual haunts in the city. They wound up at her favorite café to talk strategy, though the conversation derailed quickly.

"So. You and Arthur." Eames smiled kindly at her startle, patting the back of her hand gently. "He doesn't protect just anyone, you must realize that."

"Maybe," Ariadne replied with a sigh. "But it's not serious. It can't be."

"Not serious?" Eames scoffed.

"Well, he said not exclusive. In case I found someone else while he's working."

"You don't approve," he observed, thumb gently running circles over the back of her hand to soothe her agitation.

"I don't know. He never made me promises for long term. He can't, and I can't either. It makes sense, and I know that logically. But it still feels like cheating a little, like there _was_ a promise made, and I have to keep it."

"What makes it cheating?"

"I shouldn't love more than one person," Ariadne told him a frown. Oops, she hadn't meant to say anything about that. Though he was observant and clever, and likely had figured it out already.

"Says who?" Eames asked with a laugh. "Are there rules about this sort of thing?"

"Of course there are."

Eames shook his head and lounged in his seat. "Only if you say there are. If you both agree on the same rules. There are people in relationships that include more than one person at the same time. It's not cheating if the communication lines are open and everyone is involved."

"You've been in a relationship like that before," Ariadne guessed.

"Oh, yes." He grinned at her. "Quite fun, really. Stopped when I relocated to Mombasa, but it was a bit of a romp while it lasted."

"I'm not sure how that would even work. Three people at the same time in bed, I mean," Ariadne said as she shook her head, somehow not surprised in the slightest. Eames had always seemed to be a bit decadent, though his work ethic was unparalleled.

He laughed. "Obviously your imagination isn't filthy enough yet, darling. I shall endeavor to corrupt you thoroughly."

"You don't have to," she replied, feeling out of her depth.

"I know. But it will be fun, and take your mind off of your stalker."

"Do you see him?" she asked in alarm, eyes wide. She started to look around the café in a panic, but Eames stopped her with a touch on her arm.

"You see what I mean?" he asked her, all seriousness now. "You're wound tighter than a stopwatch. We don't know who it is that's gone into your flat, man or woman, what they might be after. As difficult as it is, you must stay calm."

Ariadne struggled to keep her breath even, but her hands shook. "I never had anything happen like this before. I'm just a student."

"Who is likely the most brilliant architect I've ever had the pleasure to work with," Eames reminded her. "We've all been terribly circumspect regarding that particular endeavor, and I doubt Mr. Saito would destroy his investment by revealing it." He paused, looking as though he was having trouble finding the words to say something distasteful.

"Just say it," she pleaded. "You can be honest with me."

Now his expression turned a little sad. "He would never breathe a word of what had happened. It would ruin him and his company. But if he wanted to ensure that none of us would ever speak of it again..."

Ariadne blanched, clenching her hands together to keep from really shaking. "Oh. _Oh._ But why wait so long? It's been a year, he got what he wanted."

"A year would be safe enough to start boasting of our accomplishments, don't you think? It may be what he's thinking."

"I'm just a student..."

"Yes. One with no outstanding debts and a tidy sum in her bank accounts. And if I know Arthur at all, a nest egg hidden away along with another identity in case anything ever happens and you have to run." He laughed at her stunned expression. "He has everything planned out. Part of what makes him a point man, darling. Plans for all the eventual contingencies and makes sure they're covered."

"He's been trying to protect me," Ariadne said defensively.

"Which is why he called me in, so he's doing a bang up job of it," Eames replied with a grin. "And I like you, so of course I said yes. I'd love to work with you again, if you decide to stay in the business."

"You would?"

"Oh, yes," Eames replied with a wide, friendly grin. "Flexible, brilliant, beautiful inside and out. So much a rarity in this field, you understand. For many, the things we need to do in order to survive turn us ugly."

"Us? You don't count yourself in that category, do you?"

"Of course I do, Ariadne. Look at what I do for a living. I'm a con man." At that he shrugged nonchalantly. "No point in denying what I am."

"You're also a good friend."

"And more, if you like," he offered with that same grin. When she blinked in surprise, he laughed. "Think on it, yes? If you and Arthur are not exclusive, perhaps I can distract you in more ways than one while I'm here with you."

"Um..." Ariadne began uncertainly. Eames leaned over and brushed a chaste kiss over her lips, sending her heart rate racing. That was when she noticed his hand on her thigh, caressing her through her corduroys. "Oh."

His smile was gentle. "Your choice, darling. It always has been."

***

Eames gave her privacy when Arthur called, cheerily saying "I don't think you'd appreciate me listening in on phone sex." She had scowled at him, making him laugh merrily as he stepped out to smoke a Dunhill. Arthur danced around the topic of the job he was working on at the moment, asked after the final stages of her thesis, how she was getting on with Eames underfoot.

"About that," Ariadne blurted, not entirely sure how to broach the subject. Best to just dive right in, really. "He expressed interest."

"You said he's a friend," Arthur replied, sounding as if he wasn't getting her hint. Or maybe he simply didn't want to.

"Yeah. He wants to be more than that."

There was a long pause, long enough that Ariadne thought his connection dropped. "And what do you want?" Arthur asked finally. Was she imagining the strain in his voice?

"I don't know."

Another pause, a little shorter now. "You're free to do whatever you want. We agreed on that when we started."

Something tightened and cracked in her chest. She refused to think it was her heart, she hadn't wanted to get that involved. "That's all you can say?"

"What do you want me to say?" Arthur asked, definitely strained now.

_That you love me. That you want me all for yourself. That this is more than just a very convenient arrangement for us both._

But she said none of that. "Tell me the truth."

Arthur blew out a breath. "I don't want anything to happen to you. It's more important that you are safe and happy. You matter to me."

She closed her eyes and wasn't entirely surprised to feel a tear slip out from beneath her eyelids. Was she being stupid for wanting more than this? No, she deserved more, definitely. It was never stupid about _that_ aspect of it. She was probably just stupid for wanting more than that from Arthur. He'd gone out of his way to explain it from the very beginning, after all.

"And you matter to me, too," Ariadne replied. Thankfully, her voice didn't crack. She loved him, even the bits she didn't see, the parts of his past and present that she didn't know and never would. She accepted him for who he was, prickly at times and distant at others, scared to commit and running around the world because he was too afraid to settle in one place.

She knew the feeling, but refused to let it rule her.

"Stay safe," Arthur said. There was an intensity to his voice that she didn't often hear, and she wondered what was bringing it on. Was he jealous of Eames? "Do whatever you need to do, just stay safe."

Eames was standing there when she opened her eyes after hanging up. "Ariadne," he murmured, concern clear in his expression. "That didn't go very well, did it?"

"I don't know why I hoped for more."

"Oh, darling," he murmured sympathetically. Sitting beside her on her lumpy couch, he put the phone aside and pulled her into a tight embrace. "You know why. You love the stupid bugger."

She wanted to deny it, but really couldn't. And then when their mouths met, she had an excuse not to. His tongue was on hers, his hands at her hips to tug at her shirt. He had said he could be a distraction, and he meant it. But as much as she loved Arthur, she also had some feelings for Eames. Not the same, not quite yet, but they could be in time. He was a charming con man, just as Arthur was a gentleman thief, yet there was tenderness and compassion as well. Somehow, Ariadne was sure she was the only one that could see it in them both.

What the hell. Why not?

Pulling off her shirt, Ariadne didn't even feel self-conscious about sitting there in her bra and jeans. His gaze was appreciative, as if she was the only water in a desert. His fingers skimmed across her skin, taking in all of her. As he slid his hands around her torso to unhook her bra, Eames kissed her again. It was a slow and sensual exploration of her, his fingers brushing against her back in languid strokes. He just as slowly peeled the rest of her clothes off, then his own; he wouldn't let Ariadne do it once he realized she was going "too fast" and couldn't savor the moment. "Plenty of time for fast or hard or kinky, love," he purred before licking a stripe along the top of one breast. "For right now," he began, running his tongue along her nipple. "Let's just learn each other, hm?"

So they went slower than she would have liked or expected, but Eames was a thoughtful and thorough lover. She writhed and moaned beneath him, pinned down by his hands on her wrists and his mouth over hers as he filled her completely. He moved as though they had a century to devote to this, as though she was his only priority.

She rather liked that feeling.

Eames was a cuddler, too. He stretched out on her bed, taking up the entire space, then pulled her down on top of him. His arms were solid around her, his heartbeat steady beneath her ear. "Not bad, eh?" he asked. She could hear a measure of uncertainty mixed in with the satisfied tone.

_Your choice, darling. It always has been._

Ariadne propped herself up to give him a quick kiss. "Mmm. Really good," she purred with a smile. "You'd better stick around a while."

"Oh?"

"I'm a pretty good cook. I'd hate for you to miss out."

His grin lit up his face and set her insides bursting with pleasure. It felt very similar to how she felt when Arthur smiled at her.

She was in trouble, wasn't she?

***

Eames slept on her tiny little sofa in the living room, his feet hanging over the edge. Still, it beat the floor, even with four thick blankets put over the couch cushions. He was being a gentleman, giving her emotional space even if he couldn't give her physical space in her apartment. He was very good about cracking jokes about the situation without making her feel beholden to him. He accompanied her shopping and escorted her to the grounds of the École and wished her a good day, leading her friends to tease her about her new boyfriend. "What happened to the other one?" Marita asked her, curiosity animating her otherwise rather bland features.

"What other one?" Ariadne asked, heart skipping a beat.

"The one with the suits. Looks utterly yummy," Marita said, making an exaggerated lip licking motion.

Though she laughed along with her other friends, she knew Arthur would be mortified; he had been so careful not to be seen, and here her friends had been aware of him. So much for sneaking around Paris.

"He's away on business right now," Ariadne said with a careless shrug. "This is just a friend keeping me company."

"Ri-i-i-i-i-ight," she drawled, rolling her eyes. "Because the rest of us have handsome men crawling all over themselves to carry our books and hold doors open."

Ariadne looked from Marita to her other friends, and all of them came to the same conclusion. "You don't think—"

"If you don't want him, I call dibs!" Sandrine piped up. She was nearly as tall as Arthur and just as svelte, always making Ariadne feel a little dumpy in comparison. But she was a sweetheart, the kind of person that was impossible to be angry with.

"It's not like that. Really."

"He looks at you like you're dessert, Ariadne," Marita said. "Maybe you better rethink the absent boyfriend, hm? Is he really away on business? Or is he with someone else?"

And of course it didn't look good that she didn't know where Arthur was or when he would return, or even what hotel he was staying in. Her friends gave her pitying looks, and Sandrine subtly started dropping hints that Ariadne should start dating Eames. "Don't look so far away, chère," she chirped.

That evening, telling Eames about the conversation, his eyes merely twinkled. "And did you tell them about the arrangement we all have?"

"Well, no..."

"It might worry them less." Eames let his fingers run along her arm. "But I do like their line of thinking. Good friends, they are. They just want to see you happy."

Because it did look bad when seen from outside the situation. Here was Eames taking her everywhere, going with her to her favorite patisserie, to the café, to the bakery, the Laundromat, grocery shopping. He helped her with her errands, and didn't just play the role of bodyguard.

Ariadne sighed. "But it feels wrong somehow, like I should be telling Arthur about this."

"You did," Eames pointed out.

"The emotional part, not just the physical."

Eames' eyes sharpened as he took in what she was saying. "Oh. Oh, darling, no."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," she said in a tiny voice as he gathered her up in his arms.

"I'm flattered, I really am. But I'm hardly the bloke to make you happy." He kissed the top of her head. "It's fun, no doubts about that. But Ariadne, you can do so much better than me, you must know that."

"And if I don't care?"

Eames sighed and pushed her back a little so he could look her in the eye. "If you aren't going to use the good sense that God gave you, I'm not going to complain about it. But I don't want you to regret this. Or leave dream share because of something like this."

"I'm a big girl, Eames. I know what I'm doing."

He quirked a smile at her. "Do you, now?" The smile widened a bit when she nodded, a determined look on her face. "Well, then. I certainly won't lecture you on the horrors of dating bad men. Or fucking them, given that I particularly like that part."

"So do I," Ariadne replied tartly.

Laughing, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. "All right. You're sure you won't regret any of this lamentable business. Then why don't we prove to you that you need a new bed? Yours is tiny and squeaks something awful."

***

Ariadne frowned when they returned home from the Laundromat. Eames had folded up the laundry and packed it back into the basket as usual, and didn't understand why she stopped so suddenly once inside her apartment. "What? We didn't forget anything there, did we?" he asked, frowning at the basket.

"The living room looks different."

He looked over the space with a practiced eye, but couldn't tell. "If it is, it's minute."

She stalked forward, eyes wild as she took in her apartment. "The blanket's moved," she said, pointing to the couch. "And here," she said, pointing to his suitcase beneath the side table she had put her books and school projects on instead of her coffee table. "And there," she said, turning around to point at the window. "The shade wasn't pulled up so high and the curtain wasn't drawn that far back. Plus, the picture on the shelf there is missing, the one of me at the beach that Sandrine took."

Eames blew out a breath, looking around the room carefully before putting the basket down. Everything looked the same to him, she could tell by his expression. But the missing photo on the shelf was impossible to miss; he loved that photo of her, and it wasn't anywhere else in the living room. With that piece of definitive proof, he went with her from room to room, casting a critical eye over the area. Nothing else seemed to be disturbed or missing.

"I think it was the window," he said in a serious tone. "The different way the curtain is pulled might be because that's how he came in."

"He? You think it's a he?"

"Odds are better, and why else take your photo?"

"It's more obvious now."

"He's watching you, then. Seeing you with me must be making him angry."

Ariadne shivered, taking in her living room. Stalkers getting unhappy with the women they followed usually led to violence. She had seen enough stories on the movies or horrid made for TV movies to know how badly it could go.

Eames pulled her into his embrace. "Hey, hey. I've got you, Ariadne. I'll keep you safe, I promise. It's why I'm here."

"I didn't think it would get this bad..."

"It won't get worse," Eames promised. He immediately had her lock up the apartment as he left. When he returned, he had enough hardware to change the locks, add a deadbolt, and reinforce the windows. Ariadne turned over her old keys and looked at the new ones lying in her palm. It was real, and this stalker was dangerous.

Burrowing into Eames' warmth that night didn't keep the chill from her spine.

***  
***


	2. Added Complications

It was a shock to see Arthur standing in front of her door. Ariadne could only gape at him, and he sighed, shoulders slumped. "Am I unwelcome?" he asked softly.

"No, no. You're welcome. You're very welcome." Ariadne grabbed his arm and pulled him into her apartment. "I wasn't expecting you. Usually you call or text or message me if you're heading to Paris."

His eyes strayed past her and took in Eames sitting on one of her kitchen stools, nonchalantly eating breakfast in nothing more than a pair of boxer shorts. "Maybe I should have," he muttered darkly.

Ariadne frowned at him. "Don't tell me you're jealous," she said, her voice pitched so it wouldn't carry to the kitchen. "Not when you threw him at me to protect me and very carefully reminded me we have no permanent connection, no strings attached."

"Maybe there should be."

She gaped at him again, not sure she heard him correctly. "Wait. So _now_ it matters to you? Now that there actually is someone else in the picture for me, _now_ you care?"

Arthur at least winced at her tone. "It's not like that. I thought you would be safer that way, if you weren't attached to me, if I wasn't attached to you. I thought maybe no one would come after you." He let out a sigh and caught her hands in his. It looked as though he had to struggle with himself for a moment, but he came to a decision and opened his mouth to speak. "But I can't let go of you. I can't pretend it doesn't hurt to see you with someone else."

"You're the one that said you didn't want more than that. You're the one that couldn't promise anything..."

"I know what I said!" he snapped, drawing Eames' attention. Arthur closed his eyes a moment, drawing a deep breath in and out to calm himself. "I know what I said," he repeated when he could manage a softer voice. She could hear the stifled emotions there, and some part of her ached for him. He always tried to think of safety and security threats, and generally thought of everyone else's needs but his. It had been like that with Cobb, and he didn't know how else to be.

"So now what do you want?" Ariadne asked him softly. "A house in the country? A dog? Children? Living some nine to five job with a legal salary, taxes, no PASIV?"

"If it's a life that has you in it, yes," Arthur replied. "I made a mistake. I didn't take enough variables into account."

"Variables," Ariadne echoed in disbelief. She could hear Eames approach the living room from the kitchen. And really, the apartment truly wasn't that big. "People aren't variables, Arthur. They're not orderly."

"I know," he replied, sounding miserable. "I didn't expect..." He ran a hand through his hair, mussing the perfect coif. Ariadne looked at him in surprise. "I knew you're special, and I like you. A lot. I just... I didn't expect _how much._ That I'd constantly worry about you, even when I made arrangements, just because I'm not there." Arthur grasped her hand and squeezed tightly, his professional mask slipping and some desperation showing through.

"Is that something you even want?" Ariadne asked gently, eyes searching his face.

"It's not something I thought I'd ever have. So I never prepared for it." He shook his head ruefully. "I don't know if I even could."

 _Prepare for a relationship? Oh, Arthur,_ she wanted to say. There was no way to really prepare for a relationship. It simply happened. But what little she did know of his upbringing and early years had made it seem as though Dom and Mal were his role models of a loving couple working together, and look at how that worked out.

She reached up and touched his cheek tenderly. "I'm not Mal. You're not Dom."

Arthur flinched and looked away miserably. "Yes. But they never planned for that to happen, either, and I can't risk your sanity."

Eames stood behind Ariadne, unabashedly taking in everything. At that, he snorted derisively. "Don't make me laugh, Arthur. You never devalued people as much as Cobb does. You'd never think to do anything underhanded with Ariadne or take away her ability to control dreams."

As much as Arthur was clearly irritated with Eames, the words did seem to help ease his worried stance.

Ariadne pulled him into her living room and had him sit down. "You never answered me. Do you really want life without dream share?"

"I want a challenge," Arthur said. "This is what I know, and most things in the legitimate world simply aren't good enough anymore."

"Amen," Eames echoed. He laughed at Arthur's disgruntled expression in his direction. "Oh, did you want to pretend you had privacy here? Ariadne's flat is unbearably tiny, Arthur. God bless Parisian tenements, eh?" He laughed at their twin glowers in his direction. "Then get a mansion or some such if you want private conversations." He grasped Ariadne and gave her a filthy kiss, making Arthur's glower turn downright murderous. "I'll take a shower and let you two pretend to be alone, yeah?"

Eames left without an answer, sauntering off as if he owned the place. It was his usual walk through her apartment, though.

Heaving a sigh, Ariadne waited until the water turned on. "Hot water doesn't last longer than seventeen minutes," she informed him. "So we'd better start talking."

"Seventeen minutes?" Arthur asked, a horrified edge to his tone.

"Old building, rattling pipes, you know the deal." Ariadne paused. "Or maybe you don't, I don't know. Maybe you always have gobs of money for hiding out between jobs or staying in hotels where you train." She threw up her hands a little in exasperation. "Where we stay isn't as important as knowing if you'll stay."

"I want to."

"But?" Ariadne prompted when he fell silent.

"But... _Eames?"_ he blurted, irritated. "I sent him your contact information thinking he would keep you safe, not be your next love interest."

Ariadne crossed her arms over her chest and shot him a sour look. "And so what if he was? It was my choice for that to happen, just like it was my choice for _us_ to happen, just like it would be my choice if I decided to walk away from both of you and be done with it all."

Arthur shot her a stricken look, but remained silent. She appreciated that he didn't deny that or try to justify his pain. He may rely on concrete pieces of information more than the emotions, but that didn't mean he didn't have them or acknowledge them in others. He just didn't know what to do with it if he couldn't plan for it.

"You want to stay with me. That's great, I want to stay with you, too. The thing of it is, I care about Eames, too. I love the both of you."

The breath rushed out of Arthur so quickly that he seemed to deflate. Ariadne dimly realized that she said the word _love,_ which could be why he was so pole axed. It wasn't supposed to be about love. Their relationship wasn't supposed to be so deep. But it was, and now they had to deal with it.

"Do you want me to walk away and leave you with him?" Arthur asked, the words sounding as if they were dragged out of him.

"Were you paying attention? I want to stay with you. But I want to stay with him, too."

"You're saying both of us. At once." Ariadne nodded, and he blew out an aggrieved breath. "Most of the time, I don't even like him. I don't know if I could live near him, let alone in the same house."

"Why don't you like him?"

"He's a pompous asshole that doesn't appreciate the need for a proper contingency plan. I worked with him a few times before the Fischer job. Work ethic is fine, as long as he gets to do what he wants. For the rest of us, he didn't give a fuck what we wanted to do, or what we needed to get our roles done. And he just took off at the first sign of trouble when the job went south." Arthur's jaw set into a hard line. "I have a hard time believing he would be any different with you."

"He's been here," Ariadne reminded him gently. "Replaced my locks and wired up the windows, took me around the city and never once tried to badmouth you. I don't know what happened on that job, or why he did it. But he never did anything wrong here."

"That's a little hard to believe."

Ariadne grasped Arthur's hand and held it to her chest. "He's here. He's never tried leaving, never made me feel like he resented being here. That was even before it turned physical." She gave him an intense look. "Maybe personal and professional aren't too far apart for him."

Arthur snorted. "He might be the best forger in the business, but that doesn't mean he's not a mercenary."

"But even they need to maintain relationships in order to get referrals to work. Any field that small has to rely on word of mouth. On who knows who, on who can get the job done. Right? It's like that with the really good architects, I would imagine it's the same for dream share." Ariadne brought his hands to her mouth. "Or are you afraid to find out he's not who you think he is? That it would mean you'd have to rethink the entire time you had spent with Dom?"

It looked like a reflex to pull away and shutter his expression, to close down and resume his professional stance. But Ariadne hung on with the same insistence she had used to dig into Dom's secrets. 

"What are you afraid of, Arthur? We're not Dom and Mal. You don't go messing around with things just to see if you can, and I just want to build." Ariadne paused. "Unless that's the problem. Unless you're afraid of what I'd build between us."

"In this business," Arthur began in a ragged voice, "sometimes attachments help. The connection can bring on a job, new colleagues, something. But others... They don't mean to, but they'd break you. I've seen it happen too many times before."

"So you'd ignore what's going on between us, thinking it would help you out?" Ariadne asked, incredulous.

Arthur scrubbed at his face tiredly. "No, that's not it. It's just... There are no guarantees in life to start with. In this business? Even less. I told you from the start, I can't promise you anything. Even if I want to, I can't."

"Do you want to?" Ariadne asked softly.

"It doesn't even matter..."

"Yes, it does. Because if you want to, we'll find a way to make it work."

"You're too fucking optimistic."

"Someone has to be." Ariadne grasped his hands again, squeezing tightly. "I helped make the inception work. Why can't I make this work, too?"

"I've seen it fail too many times, Ariadne," Arthur said softly. "And I'd rather walk away to keep you safe than see than see that happen to you."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Ariadne cried in frustration, launching herself at Arthur. She plucked at the buttons on his shirt as she kissed him, mouth open so her tongue could slide into his mouth. While he made a startled noise, Arthur put his arms around her, lifting the back of her shirt so he could brush his fingers directly across her skin.

Ariadne broke the kiss long enough to pull her shirt over her head, toss it aside, and unhook her bra. Arthur immediately pressed her into the couch, his mouth sealed over hers and his tongue sliding against hers. His hand ran down her side, then back up to cup a breast. His other hand pulled at his shirt, untucking it from his pants. Ariadne worked at it from the back, until she could run her hands beneath it. Running her nails across his skin, Ariadne hummed a bit in pleasure. Neither heard the water shut off in the bathroom or the door open.

They did hear Eames' amused chuckle. "Well, now. I suppose you've made up, since you're kissing." Arthur raised his head to snarl at Eames, which just made him laugh outright. "Oh, no, carry on," Eames said with a wave. "I'll watch the show. Unless you'll invite me to join you. In which case, I'm already dressed for the occasion."

"And Arthur is very overdressed," Ariadne remarked, finishing off his buttons. "What?" she asked innocently when he looked down at her incredulously. "You are."

"I'm not putting on a show," Arthur sputtered.

"So you're letting him join in?" Ariadne asked

"Absolutely not!"

"I don't have to fuck _you,"_ Eames pointed out reasonably. "Though I would if you wanted me to." He shot Arthur a wide, amused grin. "Oh, Ariadne and I may have had a conversation or two on the subject."

"Or twelve," Ariadne corrected.

"Or twelve," Eames conceded gracefully. He laughed at Arthur's gobsmacked expression and leaned his arms over the edge of the couch, skin glistening and scrubbed pink from the shower. "You've seen yourself in your suits, right?"

"I'm not hearing this," Arthur grumbled.

"Then perhaps we should demonstrate," Eames offered helpfully. He grasped Arthur by the back of his neck and pulled him in as he leaned closer. Their mouths met, startling Arthur, who flailed a bit before pushing Eames away.

"What the hell?"

Instead of replying, Eames then turned and did the same to Ariadne, who responded to his kiss and snaked her left hand up to touch Eames' cheek. She reached out to Arthur with her other hand, caressing his chest through his shirt, then reaching down to grasp the waistband of his pants. Eames pulled back from the kiss and watched with a lazy smile as Ariadne turned her head to kiss Arthur.

"What are you doing?" he asked in a pained tone.

"You said we weren't exclusive. Well, here's my counter-offer: the relationship is something between the three of us, and that's it. No adding anyone else, no looking for anyone else."

"I don't want anyone else but you," Arthur finally admitted.

"Then this will work." Ariadne rose to her knees on the couch and pushed Arthur's shirt off his shoulders. He sighed and caught her hands when they fell to his zipper.

"Ariadne..."

"You don't have to love him or kiss him or sleep with him. I just ask that you accept that I want to."

Eames playfully leaned over the edge of the couch. "We can work on our lovely Ariadne at the same time, make her scream. The neighbors will be jealous."

Arthur responded to Ariadne when she kissed him again, nipping at his lower lip. "I don't know if I can do this..." he murmured, though he didn't stop her from unzipping his pants and kept his hands on her hips.

"Give this a try," Ariadne murmured against his mouth. "If it doesn't work for you, then we'll figure something out. I love you, Arthur, and I don't want to lose you."

He didn't say _You never will_ or some other platitude, which was a shame. But Ariadne at least didn't hear him say no, he didn't want her touching him, so she pulled at his pants and dragged them down to his knees along with his underwear. She leaned over and took his cock into her mouth, making him hiss in a breath. He kept a wary gaze on Eames as the forger moved around the couch, but he only sat on the other side of Ariadne to brush his fingers against her hip. He was in nothing but a towel, and he seemed to have memorized all of her tender and ticklish spots.

As Ariadne sucked on Arthur and caressed his thighs and belly, Eames removed the rest of her clothes and then put his mouth to her. Arthur could close his eyes and ignore Eames that way, and Ariadne focused on the feel of them on either side of her. She might have sucked a little too hard when she came, but Arthur only groaned and threaded his fingers through her hair. She moaned when Eames entered her, really making her feel pinned down, but then the sensation overwhelmed her. Arthur cradled her in his lap after she swallowed him down, watching her until Eames came.

She looked up at him, wondering if this had pushed him too far, too fast. Ariadne propped herself up on one elbow, and Arthur gave her a hesitant smile as he traced the line of her jaw. She could feel Eames pull out and use his towel to clean them up, but her eyes remained on Arthur's face. "Can this work?" she asked softly, leaning into his touch on her jaw.

He swallowed and looked extremely vulnerable. She really hadn't ever seen him look that way before, and almost dreaded what he was going to say.

"I'll try."

***

Ariadne's apartment had been enough space when it had been just her, barely tolerable with Eames underfoot, and now impossible to navigate with three. Fitting the three of them in her bed was actually an exercise in hilarity, so Eames volunteered to let Arthur sleep in the bed with her. "I had my turn," he announced cheerfully, making Arthur glower at him. Of course that did nothing to dampen his spirits.

"If this is long term," Arthur said after the twentieth near collision in one day, "then we'll have to find a larger place. And newer furniture."

"As much as I love Paris, it might not be safe for me here anymore," Ariadne said with a sigh. "So if it could possibly wait until after my defense, I can go anywhere."

"Doesn't have to be Mombasa," Eames declared. "I've already let my flat go. I didn't have much there," he continued, ignoring the others' surprise. "So the things I have here are the bulk of what I own. Some other stuff is currently in storage in one of Yusuf's closets. He was more than happy to extend the favor when he knew I was coming here."

"I have a safe house in Amsterdam that would be large enough," Arthur said quietly, not looking at them. "Suburbs, actually, so there's space in the house, a garden, really good police force... I haven't been there in a few years."

"Why not?"

"The last time I was there, we were throwing Mal a birthday party," Arthur said, looking up at Ariadne. "A few weeks later, she was dead. I couldn't do that to Dom."

"I'm sure it's lovely, and would be perfect," Ariadne said, moving to rub his arm in a supportive gesture.

To Arthur's surprise, Eames moved to rub his shoulders. He didn't say anything untoward or lascivious for a change, and only asked after Ariadne's thesis. Eames had a way with his hands, and slowly but surely was able to work all the tight kinks from Arthur's shoulders. He was looser and more relaxed than he remembered being in a very long time, which was comforting and disturbing at once.

Ariadne scooted in next to him on the couch, snuggling into his side and letting her hand rest high on his thigh. "It'll be okay, you'll see. We'll make some new memories to balance out the old ones. There won't be only sad ones, then."

Arthur slung one arm around her shoulders and held her tight against him. "We'll give it a try. It's not as though anything bad ever happened there."

"That's the spirit," Eames said brightly.

He was definitely a corrupting force, but for some reason Arthur didn't feel disturbed by that in the least.

"He makes you happy," Arthur murmured when Eames was out grocery shopping. He pulled her into his lap and held her tightly. "He really does."

"Yeah," she agreed softly, stroking the back of his head. "He really does. It's different than with you. Lighthearted maybe is the closest word I can think of. I can be silly and it's okay. With you, it feels more serious."

Arthur frowned. "That doesn't sound like our relationship is a good one for you."

Ariadne shook her head. "It's not that. I don't have the words for this, Arthur. I know you, and even the parts of you I don't know feel like home. If that makes sense? You're important for me, like everything would go wrong without you. And with Eames, it's not like he's extra. It's more like a cloudy day. I know something's missing if he's gone, and it's brighter when he's around." Her eyes searched his to see if he understood. "I'm not explaining this right, am I?"

Sliding his arms around her, Arthur gave her a gentle smile. "I think I understand it. I'm just glad you found someone you care for that cares about you back. That's what I really wanted for you when I wouldn't make promises. I just want you happy."

"And you don't feel jealous at all?"

He actually thought about it, which Ariadne appreciated. If he had responded right away, she would have assumed he was lying.

"You know, I don't think I am now. Before I saw the two of you together, the image I had in mind wasn't terribly flattering to him." He grimaced slightly. "Every once in a while I still want to punch him in the mouth, but it's because he's an insufferable bastard, not because you're sleeping with him, too."

Ariadne dropped a kiss on his nose. "I can accept that, then."

"Good." He moved to kiss her mouth. "So before he comes back..."

Giggling, Ariadne wrapped her arms around him and straddled his waist. "I do like how you think," she murmured before moving to capture his mouth in a kiss. "Even if you're a stick in the mud sometimes."

"Now I _know_ you've spent too much time with Eames."

Laughing, Ariadne moved in for another kiss. "Solve that problem, then."

Arthur tugged off her clothes and laughed along with her. "Gladly."

***

In the three weeks that Eames had been in Ariadne's apartment with the changed locks, there had been no sign that her stalker had tried to come back. However, soon after Arthur had arrived, the three of them returned from dinner to see quite clearly that there were scratch marks around the lock of her door. It was both in the knob and the deadbolt, as if someone not very skilled had tried to pick open the lock. Eames had splurged on the so-called "unpickable" locks, though he had been quick to say that a skilled locksmith could still pick it open. He had only grinned when Ariadne asked if he could pick them open, and had guessed that he could.

Arthur checked the windows, and it looked as though someone had tried to smash the glass. The tempering process made it harder to do, so the stalker's efforts had scratched the glass instead of shattered it. There were also scratch marks around the lock on the windows, deep gouges that made them all think the stalker was mad as hell.

Ariadne shivered as she sat on her couch, watching the two men pace. Arthur thought best that way, Eames was just agitated.

Finally, Arthur stopped pacing and turned to look at Ariadne. "We're going to set a trap."

Ariadne looked at Arthur in concern. "Is that safe?"

"There hasn't been any interruption in your schedule at school, and there were changes here. Whoever this guy is, he doesn't have access to the École. So it's not a fellow student, and likely isn't anyone in dream share."

Eames looked thoughtful, and stopped pacing, instead shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. "True. They wouldn't care one whit about school security."

"We're looking at a civilian stalker," Arthur concluded, laying out what he had been thinking. "So this allows us to plan without worrying about possible repercussions in the dream share community."

At Eames' thoughtful nod, Ariadne frowned. "Why? Scared you'd piss off somebody important by protecting me?" she said, managing to swallow down her bitter tone.

Arthur shook his head. "No, it's a question of letting others know how important _you_ are. Not just as a potential target to get to us, but in your own right."

"Because Arthur's only been protective of Cobb before," Eames explained, seeing Ariadne's stunned look. "The man was brilliant but weaselly and after a while had a price on his head." Arthur looked displeased by that assessment but didn't contradict it. "You, on the other hand, are a fresh face in the business. Some might see that as a poaching opportunity or correctly guess at an emotional connection."

"It really is a small community if you want the best players," Arthur said.

"So how do you want to approach it?" Ariadne asked, curious.

"It has to be a trap. He has to think that you're vulnerable, that he can get to you while we're away. Meanwhile, we're going to be here with you the entire time."

"You're assuming that you can figure out how he's been watching me."

"The times he's been here have been irregular, but there's a gap of a week or two between times you're certain he's stopped by. So we'll have to conveniently drop your schedule at a time he'd likely see it."

"Like what? Putting my datebook out there?"

"That's a thought," Eames said with a nod. "I know you don't have one, but _he_ doesn't know that. I can mock up a good one for you. It'll be something with notations for the year, some plans ahead of time, that sort of thing. It has to be believable, after all. So I'll need your help putting things in it."

"I could just do it myself," Ariadne pointed out. "I'm helping with this, remember?"

Eames grinned, eyes lighting up. "Yes, but it's been some time since I've put my skills to use, and creating a whole prop? Sounds like a good enough challenge."

"You're mental."

"Quite possibly," he replied with a cheeky grin. "Certainly not _good._ But I'm very good at being bad, and that's what you need right now."

Ariadne wasn't about to disagree, and wanted to laugh out loud when she saw Arthur fishing into his suitcase for a Moleskine. Some things never changed, did they?

***  
***


	3. Confrontation

They made a big show of Arthur giving her a planner while at the café, coordinating schedules and writing things down to do later. Eames had been in the distance, pretending to be a photographer, and saw a man whose expression soured at the sight of it, intently watching Ariadne. "Gotcha," he murmured, snapping a photo. It had been a long shot, but the two had walked around Paris for quite a bit, hoping to attract the stalker's attention. He had followed discreetly, hoping to catch the stalker.

It was nothing to casually stroll past his waitress at the till when the stalker paid his bill, which coincidentally was only when Arthur asked for the check. Eames saw the name on the credit card, then filed it away to return the favor.

The skills used to blend in and follow his forges were not coincidentally the same ones that were most helpful for stalking. Well, to be perfectly honest, Eames was a glorified stalker himself. He never said such a thing to Ariadne, of course, not wanting to scare her any more than was necessary. He usually was looking for behavior patterns, speech patterns, any tells or people his subject was close to. In this case, he had a name and appearance for his subject, who was busy trailing after Arthur and Ariadne. A quick text to Arthur before they left the café put the point man on alert; Eames was sure he would pick up the tail now that he knew to look for one.

This man had only escaped detection so far because his attempts had been so sporadic, but now they were on to him. It was only a matter of time before they could close their trap around him.

Jean-Pierre Levec was a fairly common name in Paris, so Eames tracked down every single one of them listed online. It took most of his morning, and occasionally required some breaking and entering. He actually enjoyed that part; it had been ages since he had to pick locks like this. Most recently his impersonation skills had others opening doors for him. All of this was an unexpected bonus, as far as he was concerned, and much better than picking open his own locks or forging random documents for his own amusements. When there was something on the line, the adrenaline rush made everything that much better. That probably said a lot about him, if he chose to think about it, and no doubt Ariadne would say something pithy. Just as well he didn't tell her how much he really enjoyed being a criminal. She was still innocent enough to think the best in him, and he didn't want to destroy that.

Ah, there he was. This had to be the stalker, because Ariadne's photo was prominently displayed in the bedroom, along with one of her scarves and her sweater.

Eames smiled as he stood in the proper Jean-Pierre's space, taking in the feel of him. The flat itself was small and mostly bare, with few personal items in the living room. His furniture was all hand me downs, mismatched and worn, and there was apparently only a computer and stacks of classic French novels for entertainment. There was no apparent family, though Arthur could confirm or deny that one. Eames could only guess so far, as there were no family photos, no knick knacks or casual items that would suggest gifts from family members.

The mail was neatly stacked in piles on the table, as well as a calendar with notations in three different colors. The red notes appeared to correspond to Ariadne's class schedule; he didn't know her actual classes, but the times on it were carried over on all weeks of the calendar, and corresponded to when she would be at a particular street corner. The blue notes were likely Jean-Pierre's work schedule, as they were sporadic over the pages, occurring every few weeks. The black notes were in between the blue ones, and carried addresses and contact information in various other countries.

Rifling through his belongings, Eames found that Jean-Pierre was a courier, and would do deliveries within France for a few weeks, and would alternate with a coworker to fly out overseas for a few weeks. Going back through his datebook, it looked as though Jean-Pierre had been on the same flight back to Paris from LA as Ariadne. That was likely how he had found her in the first place; their lives didn't overlap in any other way.

"You stalked the wrong lady," Eames murmured as he let himself out of the flat.

And just to inject a little fear into this asshole, he decided to take one of the novels from the living room shelf. _Let's see how you like it,_ he thought as he picked the locks shut again.

Time to get to work.

***

Ariadne left the front door to her apartment unlocked while out with Arthur, her datebook open on her desk next to textbooks flagged and highlighted. She and Arthur had a lovely day at the park sitting and people watching, occasionally talking as they lay on a blanket or snacking. Eames was out of the apartment, no explanation given to her friends.

The hidden cameras, however, caught Jean-Pierre clearly entering the apartment, going through her things, finding the circled date. It was also starred, set for the evening in two days and labeled "surprise party!!!" His jaw set in anger, and his posture screamed that he was feeling possessive. He snagged a blank sheet of paper from her stack, as well as one of her pens, and copied down the address and time from Ariadne's datebook. After a vicious kick at the suitcase in the corner, Jean-Pierre left.

The address was actually that of the warehouse where they had all worked together on the Fischer job. It was still owned by Saito, who wasn't doing anything with the space, and the area around it was still quiet and sparsely populated.

Ahead of the time listed on the datebook, Ariadne headed into the warehouse carrying a bag of items, looking excited. A lot of the items poking out the bag looked like party streamers and bags of balloons, appearing as though she was decorating for a birthday party. No one else had entered or exited the building before her, and it was a good hour or so before the time listed that she had gone in.

Eames already knew that Jean-Pierre had followed her for the entire morning, and had also followed her to the warehouse. He had spent the prior two days following Jean-Pierre, who had apparently decided that now was a good time to buy rope, a hammer, duct tape and zip ties at his local hardware store. Hearing about that led Arthur to curse quietly yet fervently. Ariadne had let out a quiet breath and she had merely asked "He's going to have to die, isn't he?"

Perhaps Eames had been a far more corrupting influence than he thought.

As expected, Jean-Pierre snuck into the warehouse after Ariadne, expecting that no one would be with her for some time yet. He had his bag of hardware store purchases and a determined look in his eye. The interior of the warehouse was rather dark and empty, and Jean-Pierre had to wander about until he figured out where Ariadne was. The sound echoed strangely in the warehouse, making that an imprecise way to track her. It also meant that he didn't hear Eames and Arthur making their way through the warehouse, keeping track of where he was in relation to Ariadne.

He might not have known it, but Jean-Pierre's fate lay in Ariadne's hands.

"There you are, Ariadne," he said, triumph in his expression. "You had to live up to your namesake, didn't you? It was a maze of corridors to get here."

"Who are you?"

He looked hurt. "Ariadne. I've been looking out for you, making sure that any problems go away. How can you ask me that?"

"You still haven't told me your name."

Jean-Pierre stepped closer, further into the lit area Ariadne was standing in. Balloons and streamers had been put up to look like a birthday party would be held there, and colored tarps were all over the floor. She was leaning against a table, blocking most of it from his view. He only smiled at her, a slick kind of smile that Eames knew would make Ariadne think he was utterly demented. Which he was, but Eames had still held out some hope that Ariadne wouldn't have to be bait.

"I'm going to save you," Jean-Pierre said fervently. The bag he carried was now clearly in view. "It's going to be wonderful."

"You haven't told me your name," Ariande said, voice hard and no-nonsense.

Jean-Pierre merely laughed, eyes wild. "You know who I am, Ariadne. Names mean nothing, not where we'll be going."

"What's in that bag?"

His slick smile widened. "So observant. But you missed the signs I left for you, if you don't know my name."

"You've been in my home and took my things," she said icily. Her hands closed on the Sig Sauer that Eames had smuggled into Paris for her to use. "You didn't leave any calling cards for that kind of stalker behavior."

The smile vanished. "Stalker is such an ugly word."

"It's accurate."

"I had to look after you. I had to be sure that you were safe. I had to know that your soul would remain pure, that those demons wouldn't corrupt you. Because they did, didn't they? They corrupted you, tainted you. Defiled you." His laughter was a crazed, edged thing, making Eames' spine crawl. "I'll save you, Ariadne. I'll purify you, I'll make all the evil go away."

"What's in the bag?"

Jean-Pierre approached again, hammer in hand as the bag fell from his grip. The zip ties and rope spilled out of it. "You're going to come with me."

Ariadne whipped out the Sig and pointed it at his chest. "I don't think so."

He paused. "You're not supposed to have that. It's illegal."

"So's kidnapping," she shot back.

"I wasn't going to kidnap you," Jean-Pierre said patiently, as if speaking to small child. "I need to teach you, Ariadne. You go to school to be taught things, but they're not real things, not true things. There were signs linking you and me, your white jacket and mine, the colors at your throat."

Eames could see Ariadne tremble slightly as she realized how long he had been fixated on her. He eyed Arthur, and both had mirroring expressions. It was Ariadne's show, it had to be, yet neither would let Jean-Pierre get close enough to use the tools he had bought. He was planning to kill her, regardless of whatever demented spiel he spouted, and they would not allow that to happen.

"Those aren't signs."

He gave her pitying look. "You don't know yourself, do you? It's clear as day to someone able to read the signs as I can. You gave yourself to me in pieces, and I was keeping you safe, keeping all the problems away. You were safe as long as I was with you."

"I am _not_ safe if you're following me," she said, voice firm.

"I'm going to teach you about the real world, Ariadne. And then I will save you from it."

"How do you propose to do that?" she asked, more to keep him talking than out of any desire to know. When he stepped forward, Ariadne cocked the gun. "Uh-uh. Not one step further, Jean-Pierre." He started, eyes wide as he looked at her. "Yeah, I do know your name. I wanted to see if you'd tell me."

"I'm supposed to teach you, Ariadne. The signs have all been there. It must be laid out for you, detailed in your skin and bones. And then once you see, you will be safe."

A chill ran down Ariadne's spine at those words. "You mean to kill me."

"My darling Ariadne," he said, voice soft and lulling. He held his hands up, as if in surrender, but the hammer was still in hand. "You won't die. You won't ever die. I will save you from the world, keep you safe. You will be free, safe forever from the evils that walk this world."

"You still haven't answered how you propose to do that, so forgive me if I don't believe you," Ariadne replied, not taking her eyes off of him. With the cocked gun in her hand and her finger moving to the trigger from the guard, he wasn't going to step forward and tempt her into firing.

"Because you haven't seen the signs. You know my name, I know yours. I see into you, I can read your future in the blood lines you draw with. I saw the signs, and I know what I must do, Ariadne." He gave her a confident grin. "This is the way."

Ariadne had never killed anyone before. Projections didn't count, not when you knew that they weren't real and there would be no consequences. She had only ever shot Mal, after all, and that was both as a projection and under duress. She wasn't a cold blooded killer, wasn't the type to glory in another's pain. Ariadne was a builder, a creator, a lover, a friend. She didn't harm if she could help it.

"I'll show you in your marrow the potential you possess. The wind in your lungs, the love in your heart. I'll show you, I'll teach you." Jean-Pierre had a slick smile on his face and a crazed look in his eyes as he spoke. His voice sing-songed through his words, and he believed everything he was saying. That made it more terrifying, actually, because there was no dissuading him f it. "This is the way of it, the truth and the life, the meaning you strive for. This is the truth, the real world we live in. Your studies mean nothing here, because they aren't part of the real world. I can show you the way, the truth, the life. Your truth is in your bones, in your blood." He held out his empty hand in a beckoning gesture, a beseeching look on his face. "I will show you the world. Come with me, Ariadne. Let me show you. Let me teach you."

"No." Ariadne was shaking, reality crashing into her. She would have to shoot, she would have to kill. That wasn't her world, it was theirs, but they couldn't swoop in and save her, invalidating her own agency. That was doing her disservice, and neither man was willing to do such a thing.

He stepped forward, a delighted hum in his throat. "My love..."

"Don't come any closer," she commanded sternly. "If you take one more step, I'm going to shoot you. I'll kill you."

"You won't hurt me. You won't shoot. You know what I say is real. It is truth, the only truth that matters, and we shall be free of these shackles that chain us to a false world."

When he stepped forward, Ariadne pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit him high in the chest, close to the shoulder of the arm holding the hammer. It fell from his grasp, clattering onto the tarp-covered floor. He looked at her with a betrayed expression as he staggered a little, mouth falling open.

"Our purpose, Ariadne. I have to show you..."

"You will show me nothing. If you leave here and leave me alone, maybe you'll live."

Jean-Pierre looked at her stern expression and faltered before walking forward. "You don't understand..."

"No, you don't understand!" Ariadne cried, gun wavering slightly as her hand shook. "I don't want anything to do with you. I don't know you. I don't want to know you. I want you to stay away from me."

"You're mine, Ariadne. You need to listen to me—" he began, still walking forward.

Ariadne shot him again, this time in the stomach. He fell to his knees, hands going to the wound as he looked at her in disbelief.

"I am not an object. I am not a belonging. I don't have to listen to you. This is your last chance to walk out of here."

"I'll never leave you," he promised.

"Yes, you will." Ariadne took careful aim, then pulled the trigger again. She forced herself to watch as the bullet hit him in the face, the exit wound exploding in a shower of blood, bone and brain matter.

Her entire body shook as she stepped back and crashed into the table. "Oh God, oh God, I really did this..."

Eames came out of the shadows and plucked the gun from her fingers. "You're all right now," he told her, shoving the Sig into his jacket holster. "My way would have been less stressful on you, though."

"I needed to try," Ariadne murmured as Arthur stepped out of the shadows as well. He had his Glock 19 out, no doubt to shoot Jean-Pierre if he closed in too fast. He put up the weapon and wrapped Ariadne in a tight hug. She clung to him with one arm and reached for Eames with the other.

Holding both of them tightly, she took deep, calming breaths. "Let's clean up and get out of here."

"I can handle the cleanup," Arthur offered, rubbing her back in a soothing manner. "You might have nightmares enough as it is."

"No," Ariadne murmured, shaking her head. "I did this. I have to see it through."

"It's different in real life compared to dreams. Bodies are messy," he told her. "Are you sure? We won't think any less of you if you let us dispose of the body."

 _"I_ would think less of me," Ariadne said sadly. "I need to do this, to prove to myself that this is really over." She pulled Arthur down and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, but I need to be involved in this part, too."

"You pulled the trigger," Eames told her gently. "You're definitely involved in this, love. I understand what you mean, but you don't have to do it. That's not something you need to have experience in if you stay in the business."

"It's not about that," Ariadne told him, shaking her head. "It's... I killed someone, Eames. For real. Not just a projection, but an actual person. Never mind he was a stalker and a crazed creeper." Her eyes wandered over to Jean-Pierre's body. "It doesn't matter that he didn't have a family, that no one would really miss him. He was still a person. And I don't ever want to be the kind of person that would execute someone and then go on my merry way. No one else knows, but I do. I know I killed someone. I won't ever be punished for this by a court of law, so I have to see this through. This is how I pay penance for murder."

Eames sighed and managed not to roll his eyes. "If you insist, Ariadne. I don't think it's necessary, I really don't, but I'll help you do this."

Arthur nodded and gave her arm a supportive squeeze. "I'll get the tools."

"I'll get the duffel bags," Eames added with a sigh. "I brought us all a change of clothes, too. This is messy work."

Ariadne nodded and looked nervously at the body sprawled across the tarp. She gulped, then squared her shoulders. "Okay. Time to get to work."

***

Arthur's safe house was located in Oost Watergraafsmeer, one of the suburbs of Amsterdam. That was easily one of the greenest residential areas of Amsterdam, as many homes there had gardens and there were many parks. It hadn't been visited in years, and hadn't even had a caretaker check in on the interior of the house. The garden was tended by a landscaper. Bills were paid automatically out of one of Arthur's accounts, and the immediate neighbors weren't the type to pry.

Opening the door for the first time made Ariadne want to sneeze. The air was stale and full of dust, so the first thing to do was air it out and clean it up. "All right," she declared, taking charge of this operation immediately. "First things first. Open up all the windows and shades. We need air and light so I can see what we have to work with."

There were a lot of windows to open, and most of the ones on the ground floor were large paned and taller than Eames. Ariadne caught sight of a few curious older neighbors looking over at the house, and she impulsively waved and grinned at them. They were startled, but waved back and then went about their business. She supposed that as much as they didn't pry, the neighbors must have assumed that the house was for sale or rent and simply hadn't drawn any interest. The downturn in the global economy could certainly fuel that assumption.

A number of rooms were furnished, but some were still empty and painted in the neutral tones that were used to try to promote sales. "You didn't decorate a thing in here, did you?" she asked after the initial tour.

Arthur simply shrugged. "I didn't need to. It's a safe house, Ariadne. By definition, they're there to retreat to if you need to be safe. It was never meant to look nice or lived in," he told her. He shrugged again. "And then after..."

"Well, it's going to be a home now," she declared, waiting for him to challenge her.

He didn't. Arthur simply shrugged and waited to hear her opinion of the house.

"I like the bones of the place," Ariadne began. Her fingers twitched, as if she wanted to sketch and take notes as she went, and she was startled by Arthur shoving a Moleskine and one of his Mont Blanc pens into her hands. "Oh. Thanks," she said, giving him a wide smile. "Let's start from the bottom and work our way up…"

The ground floor contained the large foyer, sitting room, kitchen, dining room, walk in pantry, bathroom, guest room with attached bathroom, and mudroom with the door to the back garden. The upper floor contained three large bedrooms with walk in closets, one of which was the master. That bedroom had a large bathroom with large shower, Jacuzzi tub, two walk in closets and a set of French doors to the balcony. All of the rooms right now were in shades of cream or forest green with white trim. Not bad, necessarily, but very neutral and gave no hint to personality whatsoever.

Her idea was to have a particular theme for the rooms, and just keep the neutral look in the guest room on the first floor. The bathroom and den were going to be redone in Art Deco style, taking advantage of the large floor to ceiling windows that let in light. The kitchen, which flowed into the dining room in an open concept style, she wanted to look more like a Parisian café. The dining room itself would bridge the Parisian look with the Art Deco. The living room would reflect the golden age of cinema, which included most of her favorite movies.

The extra bedrooms on the upper floor would serve as offices; she had no intention of having children anytime soon if ever, so she could have one of the rooms for her real world architecture work, and the other room could serve as a dream share preparation area. The bedroom was to be a retreat, so she went the fanciful route of using the deep forest green as a base for a mural of a forest across the walls. On the ceiling she planned to have it redone in blue with white fluffy clouds and myriad small pot lights to be stars within the clouds. Eames looked on in amusement as she sketched sheer fabric to drape around the room in place of crown molding, adding to the cloud appearance.

"Very... ambitious," Arthur said after a moment. He looked at the sketches thoughtfully, but didn't seem to be terribly opposed to it at all. "It's different from what was here before, that's for sure."

"You had no personality here before," she replied sweetly. "This definitely has more behind it than before."

"I like the Art Deco."

"I thought you would."

"Not sure about the forest painting."

"It'll be peaceful when I'm done," Ariadne promised.

"Maybe, but I'm not the type to go backpacking or camping," he pointed out.

Eames laughed and slung an arm playfully around Arthur's shoulder, ignoring the pointed annoyed stare he received in response. "But with a room like that, Arthur, you wouldn't have to go camping at all. It'll look like we're camping every night."

"We?" he asked faintly, though he didn't duck out of Eames' embrace.

"In a room this large, there's no reason why we couldn't all share," he replied amicably. "Or did you miss the fact that the other two bedrooms on this floor will be offices and there's only one place to sleep in this house."

Arthur blinked slowly. "Oh."

Ariadne looked at him almost anxiously. "Is that going to be a problem?" she asked.

"What? No, no," Arthur replied, shaking his head. He did appear rattled. "I guess I didn't think of the logistics of this..."

"You. You didn't think of the logistics?" Eames scoffed, raising an eyebrow.

Pushing off Eames' arm, Arthur fixed him with a sour look and then went to examine the walk in closets. "There's only two of these, and I don't think any of us are really clothes horses enough to need more room."

"Speak for yourself," Eames replied cheerfully. He grinned even wider in the wake of Arthur's glare. "What? I need to blend in with various walks of life. Not everyone requires a Zegna to go to work, darling."

"We can share the bigger one," Ariadne said, rolling her eyes at Eames as she took Arthur's arm. "You take one side, I'll get the other."

"Plus there will be dressers and other bits of furniture about," Eames said, snatching up the Moleskine from Ariadne's hands. "I see a king size bed over here, and then in this corner near the French doors is an armchair and settee, it looks like. Mmm. I'm imagining the sex on that already." He laughed as Ariadne playfully smacked his arm. "I didn't necessarily mean me, you know. Though that would indeed be lovely."

"Must you do that?" Arthur asked, sounding a bit irritated.

Eames merely grinned at him. "Yes, I do. Because someone has to bring in a bit of fun, and it looks like it's me. Besides, don't tell me you aren't imagining our delectable Ariadne lying back seductively on that settee as you kneel between her thighs and lick her into oblivion."

Arthur sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, obviously trying to keep himself from saying something he might regret. "Why did I agree to this again?"

"Because you love me," Ariadne said brightly, tugging him away from Eames. "And you want to see me happy, right?"

"Yes, there's that," he agreed with a sigh.

"And Eames isn't always an annoying asshole."

"Hey!" Eames called out, though the grin on his face said he wasn't offended.

"Stop baiting Arthur," she told him firmly, looping her arm through Arthur's. "What do you think of the plans?"

He let out a long breath. "It'll be a lot of work. But it's doable," he said, and Ariadne could tell that he meant more than just the house. Arthur pulled her into a tight embrace and kissed the top of her head. "We'd better get to work, then."

The next few days passed in a flurry of scrubbing and planning out purchases for the first floor of the house. They were going to take care of it themselves, allowing them to put personal touches on each room and get used to living together. There was the inevitable concern about who would sleep on which part of the bed, where their toothbrushes would be, who would do which chore, would they wear their shoes indoors, etc. All three of them were scrubbing and cleaning and mopping up for the moment, but eventually the house wouldn't need so much work. Once it would be done, they would have to settle into some kind of arrangement that suit them.

Having a functional kitchen was the top priority, so they attacked that room first. There were so many built in cabinets around the stainless steel appliances that Eames had thrown up his hands in defeat and declared that they should hire a cleaning service to do the job for them. Ariadne and Arthur nixed that idea immediately, and forced him to get to work, grumbling all the while.

Eames collapsed onto the couch first. "Ariadne, love, come keep me company. I'm exhausted, and you must be tired from all that scrubbing."

Ariadne rolled her eyes at him, biting back a smile. That would only encourage him. "The cleaning still has to be done. The grime isn't going to come out on its own." She wagged the dirty rag in his direction. "A big, strong man like you can make this come out much faster if you helped."

"But that's so _boring."_

"Necessary, though," Arthur called out from where he was scrubbing at cabinets.

He finally was able to wheedle Ariadne toward the couch, and he pulled her onto him for a rest. "Mmmm. You feel good."

"Eames..." she began in a warning tone as his hands moved down to cup her ass.

"Fine, fine. Arthur, darling, do come and rest up. The cabinet can be scrubbed in an hour. The blasted thing isn't going anywhere."

Arthur gave him a sour look when he arrived in the sitting room. "Some of us want a clean house to live in."

"True, true. Come on, Arthur," Eames wheedled. "A short rest."

With a sigh, Arthur sat on the floor next to the couch. He leaned back, and Eames dropped a hand onto his shoulder. Arthur managed not to look irritated, and he looked back at Ariadne to see how she was doing. She gave Arthur a smile, and reached out to run her fingers through the hair at the back of his head.

"It's a beautiful house, Arthur. We'll have a good life here together."

He smiled at her encouraging expression. "You are an optimist."

"Because I thought we could work this out?"

"Because you build," Arthur told her. "You build houses, dreams, relationships... And you always believe it'll work."

"Because it does," Eames pointed out, rubbing her back affectionately.

"It does," he conceded with a nod. "But I have to plan for worst case scenarios. You still have nightmares every once in a while, and there might be something I missed. If it doesn't work, if someone follows us, if there's—"

Ariadne swatted his head. "Hey. Enough of that now. We're okay, we're safe. We're starting over here, all three of us. This will work out. You don't have to think it's doomed to failure. It's different, Arthur. It'll be okay."

Arthur tilted his head back to look at her. "How can you be so certain? You can't know that for sure. Dom and Mal didn't think they would fall apart, but they did."

"Well, for starters, there's three of us. That's an automatic way to check right there, because there's three of us. If one of us acts weird, the other two will catch it."

Arthur seemed to ease a little in response to her words. "I suppose..."

"And didn't they go under just for kicks?" Eames asked. "No jobs, no thought in mind other than exploring? That's an easy way to get lost."

Though he seemed to regret Ariadne relating Cobb's story, Arthur only sighed and nodded. Eames patted his shoulder and Ariadne ran her fingers through his hair in a comforting manner. "We won't repeat their mistakes, Arthur," she promised, shifting on top of Eames so that she could press a kiss to his cheek. "I think you're too prepared for something like that to ever happen to us anyway."

"You think so?" he asked, sounding the most fragile she had ever heard him.

"Yes," she said, sounding as confident as ever. "You are the most prepared man I have ever met. You plan for _everything,_ and I'm sure there will be a thousand different contingency plans in place before we even touch a PASIV outside of a job. Not that I plan to, really, since I still want to do architecture work in the real world. But you know what I mean. I have every faith in you, Arthur." She tugged on his head so that he had to tilt and face her, letting her kiss his mouth as best as she could.

Eames stretched out, making Ariadne shift and roll on top of him. She giggled, Arthur huffed and Eames snorted. Sounded about right for how the three of them would interact with each other.

"This is _perfect,"_ Ariadne continued, giving Arthur another kiss and settling back down on top of Eames.

And truly, the two men had to agree.

The End


End file.
